


Cruel and Unusual

by ConniptionCrazy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Art, M/M, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and fluff, it's good, kind of, lots of snark, no pr0n, trust me counter:6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1246936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConniptionCrazy/pseuds/ConniptionCrazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek get kidnapped. That's it, that's the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cruel and Unusual

For the record, Stiles isn’t used to this kind of kidnapping. He isn’t really sure how the hunters pulled it off, or why they thought Stiles was a valuable asset. Derek didn’t even _like_ him. What kind of leverage could he provide, exactly? But there you had it.

At first it was a chair, and Stiles’ arms were wrenched behind his back so high it hurt, nevermind that they were also tied behind the back of the chair. There was little he remembered of those first few hours, aside from being pummeled within an inch of his life, his jeans sporting a new rip along his upper left thigh, his red flannel shirt having new bloodstains on the collar. He was bleeding from the forehead, the temple specifically. It didn’t hurt so much anymore, but head wounds always bled a lot.

Indeed, for a while all of Stiles’ world was pain and fear and an overwhelming sense of _well here we go again,_ and he was totally not ashamed of that.

At least, until they moved him. He was drugged, he was so drugged, and he hadn’t even felt the needle. Or maybe he had a concussion, because he couldn’t do anything but try and stay upright as they yanked him by the elbow to a table, of all things. It looked pretty sturdy. Stiles was expecting to get strapped down or something.

And he was right. Kind of.

They sat Stiles down, untying his arms. The only reason Stiles didn’t try to make an escape then was because he had a gun pointed at his face. Attempted escape would have been counterproductive. One of the hunters spread Stiles’ knees, and he started to get nervous in a whole different way.

“Hey, what’re you-” A sharp pain on his shin indicated another cut from a knife he hadn’t seen.

The message was clear. _Shut up._

They held him in that position with glares and guns, and Stiles was starting to consider falling asleep right where he was so long as he didn’t fall over when they brought someone in- the last person Stiles was expecting.

Derek, in the black tee and jeans that Stiles last saw him in. And he was unconscious, being supported by two rather large hunters on either side. They heaved Derek to sit on the table in front of Stiles, between his spread legs and as close to Stiles’ chest as they could get him. Stiles swallowed down his panic and just glared at the hunters, quickly grabbing for Derek’s chest when the alpha started to list forward.

They ended up with their torsos wrapped and held together with so much duct tape that Stiles was having trouble with circulation. Stiles’ arms were wrapped around Derek’s torso, wrists tied tightly in front of them both. Derek’s arms went over Stiles’ and were tied behind Stiles’ back.

Stiles had to concentrate on keeping them both on the table or face sending them both crashing to the floor. It was one or the other. He comforted himself with resting his head on Derek’s back, between his shoulderblades, where he could hear Derek’s strong and steady heartbeat.

And then they brought in the battery.

Stiles had seen the kind before, the kind the Argents used to torture Erica and Boyd. He made a sound of protest and was promptly hit in the back of the head. His vision spun, and Stiles slumped, not unconscious but dazed. It was enough time for the hunters to wrap Derek’s arms and neck in wire and set the battery to the side.

They didn’t turn it on immediately, just left them alone. Stiles would have called it a golden opportunity except for the fact that his thoughts were so vague that he couldn’t think at all, really. He drifted.

It was some time before Derek came around, but when he did, all Stiles had to go on was the lift of his head and the deeper inhale than what had been lulling Stiles into dozing before.

“We’ve been kidnapped.” Derek stated in his usual growl. Except now he sounded 600% done with everything. Especially being kidnapped.

“Mm-hm.” Stiles hummed. He felt foggy.

Derek, growling, started to struggle. Stiles yelped as it sent them both wobbling dangerously, yanking his knees together on instinct and blocking Derek in.

“What the- What the _hell_ , Stiles?!” Derek snapped.

“It’s the way they tied us. Can you not do that right now?” Stiles begged. The world was spinning.

Derek paused, and Stiles could tell he was sniffing the air from the way his torso fluctuated. It was like a dog- rapid inhales and exhales for the more rapid intake of information.

“You’re hurt.” Derek stated, like this was a revelation.

“You didn’t honestly expect me to be in factory condition, did you?” Stiles snorted. “I’m fine, it’s no big deal.” He mumbled.

Still, he could feel some of his pain ebbing away even as he spoke. Derek couldn’t help him heal, but he could make the wounds more bearable. Stiles nuzzled his shoulder in thanks- words of gratitude were beyond him right now. The fluff in his head cleared.

The door slammed open. The hunters were back.

Derek’s own torture began, with healing almost immediately as a wound was inflicted. At least until they turned the electricity on. Stiles was amazed that he himself didn’t feel any of it. He had thought for sure that he would have. But hunters seemed to be good at what they did. Or bad, depending upon whose position you took.

As it was, Derek had thrown his head back to rest on Stiles’ shoulder, teeth elongated and showing, but clenched together. Stiles murmured softly in Derek’s ear because it was all he could do, about how they were going to get through this, about how hunters were stupid cunt ass bitches who didn’t know the first thing about what a pack really did for each other. He splayed his hands across Derek’s chest as much as he could (they were so close together that there was a lot of inelegant tangling up going on) and rubbed with his thumbs. The hunters weren’t focused on him and allowed this. Or just didn’t notice.

Stiles couldn’t tell time anymore, had lost that ability long ago. The hunters left sometimes, but they kept the electricity on so that Derek couldn’t transform more than teeth, eyes, and claws, and high enough that Derek could barely move without descending into violent trembles.

Stiles rested his cheek on Derek’s shoulder.

“... This _definitely_ qualifies for ‘cruel and unusual’.” He muttered.

“Don’t talk to them, Stiles.” Derek gasped between clenched teeth. “Just don’t.” He was shaking so hard Stiles was shaking along with him.

“Okay, okay big guy.” Stiles was quick to soothe, patting Derek’s chest and rubbing small awkward circles. “I wasn’t planning on telling them shit, anyway. They’re probably going to try and use us against each other, so I hope you know that I don’t care what happens to me, don’t tell them anything, either.” He murmured in Derek’s ear, quick and low and smooth as velvet.

Derek nodded along, and Stiles could only imagine his face- everything scrunched up, eyes shut tightly, trying to focus on Stiles’ words.

Stiles was good with that. Because Derek was just the distraction he needed to keep himself from giving something away, which would be a Bad Idea.

At some point it became obvious that Derek’s body just couldn’t keep up with his trembling and went limp against Stiles’ chest, forcing him to keep them both upright (not that he whined about it or anything; he’d have to be insane to complain about having Derek Hale’s body pressed up against him, even if they were in a living hell.) as he was wracked with momentary shudders every once in a while.

The hunters came in to feed them sometimes. But it was always meager things- a sandwich made improperly and stale tap water. Stiles and Derek scarfed it down. Whether it was drugged or laced with wolfsbane or not, without it, they would die. Plain and simple. So if it wasn’t the torture, it would be starvation. The most logical thing to do was just eat it and hope that you still had a few lucky stars left. Evidently they did, because Stiles didn’t feel drugged, and Derek didn’t appear to be either. So that was good.

But that was about the only good thing going on.

Because even with those things, there was the torture. By the end of which they were both bruised and battered and Stiles was pretty sure he had a broken nose. Derek looked worse. Derek always looked worse. But he never complained, not once, and Stiles took his example and didn’t bitch and moan. He still talked, though, about all sorts of things. Anything he could think of that wouldn’t give anything away if the hunters were still listening.

And at some point- because sleep was sporadic and Stiles really had no idea how much time had passed- at some point, he’d started thinking of Derek as _his_. As in _Stop hurting my Derek or I’ll fuck you up_.

Tough mental talk from someone tied to a fucking table.

It didn’t disturb him as much as it probably should have. It was just the truth. Something was happening here between Derek and him- Stiles noticed. At one point the hunters had thought it a good idea to bring a white-hot poker towards Stiles’ face, and Derek had struggled and snapped at them and the poker so strongly and viciously that they’d backed off. It had only made Derek’s next beating worse, but Stiles was grateful all the same.

So yeah, he noticed. He wasn’t the only one feeling an extremely strong sense of kinsmanship here. If that was all that this actually was.

Derek didn’t know how much longer he could take this. More than the pain, this was just plain pissing him off. He couldn’t tell if it was day or night- there were no windows and no clocks- so he had to judge by when the hunters came and went on how much time had passed. Stiles wasn’t much of a help with plans for escaping.

Ignoring, of course, that Derek hadn’t actually breached the subject of escaping with him.

But one thing he found out Stiles was good at was being a real mother hen. Derek knew that Stiles was the mothering type when he’d first seen the kid- his wolf had known, too, and they’d shared a private snicker at Stiles’ expense. But now he was really grateful for it. The moment the hunters left, Stiles would rub soothing circles into his chest, which somehow made it easier for him to breathe, and would murmur quietly until Derek had gotten his sense back. But never while there was a hunter present- he recognized that Derek had pride, and he wouldn’t cross that line.

He was also good at taking shifts for sleeping without being told, keeping a lookout while Derek slept. It was comforting to feel Stiles curl up a little bit when it was the human’s turn to sleep, too. The way he rested his head on one of Derek’s shoulders, his breath ghosting across the back of Derek’s neck- it let him know that Stiles was, if not unharmed, then still alive.

While they were here, that was Derek’s biggest responsibility. Keep Stiles alive. Keep them both sane. Get them out of here. In that order.

And then? Opportunity. The hunters had left and hadn’t been back in a long time.

“Stiles.” Derek hissed.

“Huh?” They’d beaten Stiles last, and Derek couldn’t see his face, but he must have some absolutely stellar head wounds.

“Raise your hands up.”

“Can’t.” Stiles mumbled. “Hurts.”

“I know. Do it anyway.” Derek coerced, trying not to get frustrated, even though he was more than irritable right now.

Stiles, squirming, and at length, rose his hands up Derek’s chest, until Derek could start to chew at the ropes with his teeth. Catching on, Stiles stayed absolutely still, his body tensing, and Derek could tell that now he was straining for any sign that the hunters were coming back. Derek was able to get through the ropes, and Stiles groaned quietly, rubbing his own wrists and shaking out his hands to get the circulation back.

Derek was about to prompt him about the ropes when Stiles tore off the wires around Derek's body that hooked him up to the battery. Either Stiles was now the master of biting back sounds of pain, or he was simply too tired to care and/or feel it. Whatever the reason, Derek was immensely relieved when the electricity left his system.

“Can you reach my hands?” Derek asked.

“Unclear, ask again later.” Stiles mumbled, already twisting, reaching his hands up behind his own back, anything to try and get at the rope on Derek’s wrists.

Derek grunted. At least Stiles retained his snark. That must mean he was absolutely _fine_ , note the sarcasm.

Stiles sighed. “Nope. I can’t reach.”

Derek thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Break my wrist.” He commanded.

“What?!” Stiles hissed, voice comically high. “I can’t _break_ your _wrist_ , are you _crazy_?!” He spluttered.

“Do it, Stiles, or break my shoulder. One or the other.” Derek growled.

“Fine, fine, okay, hold on.” There was a moment where Stiles muttered to himself, reached behind them both, and then Derek was holding in a roar as Stiles _broke his goddamn wrist._

“Quick- lie down.” Stiles didn’t ask questions. He just leaned back and ducked under Derek’s hands as Derek rose his arms higher.

Once free of the extra tension of having Stiles’ body between him and his hands, one of those hands slipped free of the bonds. Then the other. And just in time before his wrist healed. Derek groaned in relief, leaning forward. He was able to stand after cutting through the rope at his ankles with his claws. It had kept him from kicking out, before. He wobbled only a moment before slicing the duct tape around Stiles’ ankles as well.

Stiles scrambled to get off the table, even though he was woozy and uncoordinated and this was a really bad idea. He started to fall, his ankles not able to hold him in their blood-depraved state, and Derek caught him, welcoming Stiles into his own big chest. Stiles sighed in relief.

“You look like shit.” Stiles muttered.

“You too, princess.” Derek snorted. “Come on. We’ve got to find a way out.”

They started to creep around the basement, searching for weapons, for anything that might help them. It was surprisingly cluttered, and not very well lit. This did not make things any easier.

“Stiles, over here.” Derek motioned.

There was a small window, covered with many layers of black duct tape.

“Yeah, how are we getting out of _that_ , genius?” Stiles grumbled.

Derek rose an eyebrow at him, and, without looking, punched right through it. He wasn’t as strong as he usually would be, but he was strong enough to punch through a stupid window. The duct tape protected his hand from getting stuck with glass, and he was able to use it to push out the remainder of the fragments.

“Oh. Well. that’s certainly one way.” Stiles sighed. He got down on his hands and knees, right up against the wall. “You go out first, then pull me out.”

“No way, Stiles. Get up. You’re going first.” Derek growled.

“You really think I can lift you out? You might be freakishly strong even after this shitstorm, but I am not. I am human.” Stiles hung his head. Damn he was tired. “Just go. I’ll be right behind you.”

Cursing everything, Derek grabbed the edge of the sill, stepped up onto Stiles back (Stiles grunted, but he held) and squirmed through the window. The glass wasn’t much of a problem, and he emerged onto soft grass, out in the middle of nowhere.

Derek didn’t stop to think about what that might mean. He just turned around, reaching through the window.

“Stiles!” He hissed. “Come on!”

Stiles’ hand grasped his, weak, barely even a handshake. Derek just tightened his hold, reached through with his other hand, braced both feet on the side of the house on either side of the window, and _pulled_.

Stiles did his part to help Derek help him, scrabbling at the wall inside to try and get a foothold of some kind. In a few moments, it seemed, he was no longer struggling inside the window but landing on Derek’s chest, both of them out of breath. Stiles rested there a moment, listening to Derek’s heartbeat and his own thundering together in his ears, and then Derek forced them both to stand up.

“We can’t stay here. Come on.”

Stiles motioned to the old range rover parked in the front of the house. “That. We’re taking that.”

“Stiles, we don’t have the keys. And I’m not going back into that house to get them.” Derek snarled.

“We don’t need the keys. I can hotwire it.”

That shut Derek up.

They got in, Derek in the passenger seat, still tense and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Stiles was fumbling with the wires, cursing under his breath, muttering to himself some more. A light came on inside the house. Derek realized it was nighttime. It hadn’t occurred to him to make note of what time of day it was, just _get out get out gotta leave go go go._

“We weren’t exactly quiet, Stiles, hurry up!”

“I’m doing my best here!”

The car roared to life. Stiles gave a tiny sound of victory, put the car in gear, and backed up. The hunters were coming out of the house, guns in hand. Stiles and Derek sunk in their seats in tandem as the first gunshots went off. Derek was yelling to _drive, dammit, drive!_

Stiles really didn’t need the encouragement. He burned rubber.

There were no sounds of pursuit. After a while, they thought it safe enough to sit up in their seats.

“Hey... Do you... Recognize this road? At all?” Stiles asked slowly, after about an hour of driving aimlessly.

“No.” Derek said slowly.

“Shit.” Stiles breathed, driving with one hand, his elbow on the windowsill, hand holding up his head. “I don’t think we’re in California anymore.”

They passed a sign.

_Philadelphia, 12 miles_

Stiles felt faint.

“Philly. We’re- oh my god _how_.”

“Just drive, Stiles.” Derek said quietly, hoarsely.

-=-

Derek finally insisted that they swing through a bank somewhere. He used the ATM and pulled out some money, and that being done, they went to the nearest Goodwill. Derek steered Stiles towards the bathroom, not taking no for an answer. Stiles was too tired to argue anyway. Derek motioned to the countertop.

“Sit.” Stiles hopped up onto it.

Derek tore off some paper towels from the dispenser and slowly, with more care than Stiles thought him capable of, cleaned Stiles’ wounds. All of them. Starting with his face, moving to his arms, Derek stopped when he got to Stiles’ legs.

“Take your pants off.” Derek ground out.

“What?!”

“Do it. You’ve got cuts on your thighs, and I can’t get to them. Take your pants off.”

Stiles, fumbling, embarrassed, stripped down. Derek’s expression never changed as he parted Stiles’ thighs and cleaned him up, down his shins, and then turned his back to let Stiles dress again.

“What about you? You’re still covered in blood.” Stiles pointed out.

Derek passed him a fresh paper towel, dampened. “Don’t be gentle.” And he hopped onto the counter for his turn.

Stiles couldn’t help but be reverent as he cleaned Derek’s skin free of blood and grime. It didn’t take a long time, since he wasn’t trying to be careful of tearing any wounds open. Derek also didn’t have to strip- most of the blood was on his clothes.

Finally done, the two stumbled, exhausted, back out into the store. Stiles was just glad that nobody had walked in on them- that would have been a tough one to explain. Derek wasn’t picky with the clothes he chose, and he didn’t care when Stiles pulled out a black hoodie as well to be purchased.

They changed in the back of the range rover, taking turns looking out again, even though this was much less dangerous of a situation. To Stiles, the clothes were musty and unfamiliar, but at least they looked normal now. He had jeans, a plain white shirt, and this black hoodie. Derek wore much the same- jeans, a new black shirt, and a dark blue flannel that he left unbuttoned.

Stiles thought it should be illegal for someone to look that good after being tortured for who knew how long and transported across the country.

They got back in the car and they drove, headed for California. They didn’t stop for gas even when they were running on fumes. The car quit around Allegheny, and they just got out and walked, leaving everything behind in it. Neither of them had any desire to keep using the stupid thing. They walked side by side, silent, into the city. Stiles was just too tired to say anything. He didn’t know how long it had been since he last slept. Derek didn’t look any different.

Stiles wasn’t sure how they’d come upon it- maybe he’d been sleeping while he walked- but Derek had found them a hotel and got them a room with two twin beds. He paid in cash, for one night. They headed up in the elevator, leaning against the walls and stifling yawns.

Derek let Stiles have the first shower, and Stiles tried not to take too long and leave some soap for Derek. When he got out, his head wounds were bleeding again, but he found bandages in a tiny first aid kid and wrapped his head, bandaging up whatever else needed bandaging, except this time with band-aids. He put his clothes back on, but this time just the shirt, and headed out.

Derek was waiting just outside, and gave him a once-over. Whatever he found must have been satisfactory, because he nodded to himself and went into the bathroom, closing the door. Stiles heard the water start.

He collapsed into his bed, which Derek seemed to have switched- Stiles had taken the nearest bed, and Derek had moved Stiles’ stuff to the one farthest from the door and taken the other for himself. Whatever.

Stiles couldn’t sleep. He could doze, but he couldn’t sleep. It didn’t matter that the sound of the shower was soothing, and that it was nice and dark and nighttime once more, or that the bed was comfortable- something was missing.

Derek eventually came out and sans all clothes slipped into his own bed without a word, apparently assuming that Stiles was asleep.

Stiles waited. He tossed. He turned. Derek was too still to be asleep. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Stiles got up and went to Derek’s bed.

“Derek?” He whispered into the darkness.

“Mnph?” Derek grunted back.

“Can I get into bed with you? I mean- I can’t-”

Derek didn’t even ask questions. He scooted over and moved the covers aside. Stiles gratefully slid underneath them, settling on the pillow that smelled like Derek. He could relax more now, but- Derek pressed up against him from the front, tangling their legs together, throwing one of Stiles’ arms over his waist, chest to back. Stiles was asleep before he could think anything beyond _much better_.

-=-

The next morning, they didn’t talk about it. They just got dressed, headed downstairs, and ate to their heart’s content from the continental breakfast. It tasted like heaven. Stiles had about three glasses of orange juice and one of something he couldn’t name but also tasted good and like juice. Derek was downing coffee like his life depended on it.

“We’re getting on a plane today.” Derek announced. “I’m calling a taxi and we’re getting out of here.”

“No complaints here. Let’s do this.” Stiles was sleepy again anyway.

Derek used the hotel phone to call a cab to take them to the airport. Stiles slept most of the way, leaning against Derek. Derek didn’t seem to care, acting as though this were normal, and even tugging Stiles closer whenever the taxi turned and Stiles threatened to slip away.

In no time, it seemed, they were on a plane headed for California. Again, Stiles slept from takeoff to touchdown, and Derek didn’t sleep at all. When they landed, Peter was waiting for them, tossing a pair of keys between his hands. Derek didn’t look all that surprised to see him, so Stiles could only assume that he’d called Peter, too.

Peter gave Derek the keys to the Camaro and started talking to him in a low voice. Stiles didn’t care- he was just trying to keep his feet going one in front of the other. Derek put a steadying hand on his elbow and didn’t take it off even when Stiles no longer needed it. Stiles was- Stiles was okay with that.

They got into the Camaro, Stiles in the passenger seat, Peter in the back, Derek driving. Stiles leaned against the car door. Comforted by the familiar interior and the scent of Derek everywhere, Stiles was able to fall into an uneasy sleep.

-=-

“How long were we gone?” Derek asked his uncle.

“Two weeks.” Peter shrugged. “We knew you were kidnapped and the Sheriff went a little crazy, but thankfully Stiles explained to him when he did about our world. Wouldn’t want him thinking this was out of the ordinary, after all.” He said dryly.

“And everyone knows we’re on our way back?”

“Yes, I told them.”

Derek nodded to himself. He was just glad to be going home.

He looked over at Stiles, sleeping once more, dead to the world. He’d been like that for most of the trip. Derek didn’t mind. But he knew that tonight he was going to miss the warmth of Stiles around him, the sound of his voice in his ear. Why that was he couldn’t tell, or didn’t want to tell. It was certainly a conversation that he didn’t want to have, not when Stiles seemed to already understand, already have the same problem.

They’d probably have to talk about it anyway. Derek sighed, turning his eyes back to the road. He heard Stiles mumble something unintelligible in his sleep and lean the other way, closer to him.

_-Finis-_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Got some stuff I wrote a while ago that I procrastinated uploading. Sorry. ^^;; Coming to you now I swear. This was really fun to write, and it's inspired by a really nice Sterek picture that ~~I can't seem to find. If someone knows the one I'm talking about, please link me so I can give proper credit where it's due. Thanks again!~~ was found by jean ; link is here: http://www.deviantart.com/art/TW-Captivity-363612117 Thanks!


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